


Happy Birthday

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Identity Issues, Kidnapping, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John were so happy to have their son Hamish, only to have him snatched away by Moriarty.</p><p>Now, every year they receive a picture of their son on his birthday. Only he doesn't go by Hamish. He goes by Alex Moran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey. Could you do me a parentlock primped. If you don’t want to that’s ok but John and Sherlock had a son, Hamish. And when Hamish was still a baby Moriarty kidnapped him and raised him as his own son. Every year on Hamish’s birthday he sends a picture to Sherlock of Hamish to rub it in. If its a bit not good that’s ok but thanks!" -R

“Sherlock, you have to get up.”

“No.”

John gently shook his husband, “You can’t lie in bed all day.”

“Oh yes I can, especially today.” Sherlock buried himself under the blankets of their bed, curled in the fetal position. John was half inclined to join him, but one of them had to hold it together.

Especially when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, and stack of letters in her hand, “You’ve got a lot to read, boys.” She smiled, setting the pile on the table.

John knew what was waiting for them, given the day. It was Hamish’s birthday.

And just like every year, there was a large envelope waiting for them. Sherlock had stopped opening them after the third one, so John took it upon himself to open them. With a deep breath, he tore the envelope’s seal, pouring the contents into his hand.

There was sand and  a single picture inside. It was of Hamish, it always was. This time, he was sitting on a beach towel, admiring the waves as they crashed in. His hair was a mess from saltwater and wind, and his cheeks were slightly pink with sunburn.  His eyes ( _Sherlock’s eyes_ ) were staring off into the distance, sparkling slightly to show he was deep in thought.

Sherlock could never look at the pictures without having an emotional breakdown, so John had to be the strong one for them both. The pictures were never so bad, it was the letter written on the back that always got to him.

_Wow, 14 years already! How time flies!_

_We took Alex to the beach this year. It was lovely, Sebby and I even got him to try his hand at surfing. Poor thing started to get frustrated after the third try, but he eventually he got it. He never backs down from a challenge, our Alex._

_You know John, maybe you and Sherlock should have your own child one of these days. I can’t imagine our life without Alex, how_ do _you manage it?_

_Until next year!_

_~JM_

John grit his teeth, clenching the photo in his hands. Their Hamish was growing up, and they couldn’t even  _see_  him. He was growing up as Alex Moran, not Hamish Holmes.

“How bad is it?”

John turned his head to see Sherlock, blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon. He sighed, “They took him to the beach for his birthday…”

“Which beach?” Sherlock blinked, “Maybe I could figure out where they were…”

This would happen on occasion. Sherlock would try and hunt down their son and his kidnappers, but would inevitably end up with dead ends and John would have to keep him from going off the deep end.

Sherlock knew it too, but it wasn’t like he was going to give up.

Not on their son…

John felt the  Sherlock lean against him, “I want him back, John…I need him back.”

The doctor nodded, wrapping an arm around his husband, “We both do, Sherlock.” He whispered, “We both do.”

* * *

 

“Why do you always insist on taking those pictures?” Alex Moran chuckled  a flight attendant passed him a drink, “Surely you have enough for your scrapbook.”

Jim Moriarty chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair as he sipped his own Bloody Mary, “Don’t you worry pumpkin, these are for a special project Daddy is working on.”

Alex rolled his eyes, “Fine, keep your secret. I’m sure Dad will tell me if I ask nicely.”

 _I highly doubt that_  , Jim smirked, looking at his lover. Sebastian was fast asleep in his seat, face pressed against the window. Poor Sebby had worn himself out on their little vacation.

“I’ll be glad to be home.” Alex sighed, getting comfortable in his chair.

Jim nodded, “Oh yes, home sounds absolutely lovely.”


	2. Alex's Curiosity

Alex Moran wasn’t an idiot. He knew he wasn’t biologically related to either of fathers. It wasn’t that much of a surprise; surrogacy was only one of the options for homosexual couples. So for a while, Alex believed his fathers when they told him that he was adopted.

When Alex found the picture, he knew it was all a lie.

It was a battered picture tucked away in one of his daddy’s scrapbooks. Alex didn’t even look through the scrapbooks usually, but he had been bored. And the picture had fallen out of one of his baby books.

The picture had two men in it that Alex had never seen before. They were standing outside a doorway, talking to each other. One was stocky, well built, his skin lightly tanned and a warm smile on his face.

But the other man…

The slim build, the dark hair, the light eyes. While Alex was only 14 and not yet an expert on the finer aspects of genetics, he knew that the chances of this man _not_ being his biological father were slim to none.

There were so many questions Alex had, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t go to his fathers. If Daddy had this man’s picture, it meant that he knew the man.

But if neither of them had told Alex about him…there was something terribly wrong.

Alex would have to confront his biological father by himself.

He could tell by the architecture of the building and the layout of the street below that they were somewhere in London. So he’d need to make a trip to London.

Well, he’d been meaning to break out of his boarding school anyway.


	3. 221b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter for you all!

It had been easier than Alex had expected, getting away from his school. Really, it wasn’t worth half of what his fathers were paying. But no matter, the lax security had been to Alex’s advantage.

Getting into London was the easy part. Finding where he needed to go was trickier. He still had the photograph for reference, so it seemed only logical to start at the building where the two men were photographed.

It had taken him an hour to locate the building. From there, he would have to rely on the goodness of others.  So likely, he was doomed.

“Excuse me; have you seen either of these men?” He found himself repeatedly asking strangers as they walked by. For the most part, they ignored him. Some would shake their heads with quickly mumbled _no_ ’s before brushing past him. But no one would stop.

“What are you doing out here, kid?” Alex turned, looking up at the older man in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Alex didn’t answer, simply holding up the picture, “Have you seen either of these men?”

He could see a flash of recognition in the man’s brown eyes. It was a good sign. The man sighed, running a hand through his grey hair as he muttered to himself, “Why are you looking for them?”

Alex opened his mouth to answer, but then something caught his eye. A badge on the man’s belt. The man was a copper.

He knew he was a runaway technically, and that the man would try and return him to his fathers if given a chance. Alex couldn’t give him that chance.

So he ran.

He knew the copper was chasing him, that’s what law enforcement did, after all. And Alex was well aware of his limitations in the physical realm; he would have to lose him before his stamina ran out.

A gated alley served his purposes quite nicely. Alex was able to use a trash bin to step up and over the gate before kicking it over so the copper couldn’t follow. He was halfway down the alley when he heard the copper swear.

“Hey kid!” He called after Alex, “They’re names are John and Sherlock Holmes!”

Alex didn’t look back, he didn’t stop running until he was sure he wasn’t being followed.

But at least he had a name now.

***

The public library had been very useful in his research, especially since he knew who he was researching.

He didn’t have to look far to find what he was looking for. He was already seeing articles about John and Sherlock Holmes ( _Crime Solving Duo_ as the article boasted).

They were definitely the same men from the photo, he was sure of it. And he was sure that Sherlock Holmes was his biological father.

Perfect.

Their blog also proved to be useful in that John had posted several photos of them. From the photos, Alex was able to figure out roughly where they couple lived.

Even more perfect.

* * *

 

It was nearly dinner time by the time Alex made his way to 221b Baker Street. He sorely hoped that this was the end of his journey. He was tired and he was hungry.

An older woman opened the door and, when Alex revealed that he was there to see Sherlock Holmes, smiled, showing him up the stairs.

“Sherlock, love.” She knocked on the door to the flat, “There’s a young man here to see you.”

“Is there a dead body?” A deep voice called from behind the door. Alex blinked, touching his own throat gently. His voice had been cracking over the past few weeks, becoming deeper, smoother. Now he knew where he got it from.

The woman smiled, “Just go in, dear.”

Alex nodded, opening the door slowly.

It was a modest flat, with all sorts of items strewn about. His daddy would have hated the place. Their home was always so pristine, with top of the line décor and the best cleaning service available.

Then he saw him, Sherlock Holmes. The man had his back to Alex, plucking absently at the strings of a violin.

He cleared his throat, “Excuse me, Mr. Holmes.” Alex started, walking closer to him, “I’m sorry to interrupt…my name is Alex Moran, and I—”

The violin felt to the floor with a bang. Alex winced, it would take hours to tune that violin, if it wasn’t damaged beyond repair.

Holmes was facing Alex now, staring at him with wide eyes. In a flash, the consulting detective had climbed over the coffee table and nearly attacked Alex, holding him in a tight hug.

“Hamish…”


	4. Chapter 4

It was all Alex could do to keep from falling over from the force of Sherlock Holmes tackling him in a desperate embrace. This was certainly not the greeting he had expected from his biological father. Hamish had never been good with emotions or affection, Daddy had always teased him about it.

So being embraced by a complete stranger, blood relations aside, was an odd experience for him.

Holmes seemed to pick up on Alec’s discomfort, as he quickly stepped back, “I apologize, outbursts of affection are not my usual greeting, but considering the occasion…” He paused, “Tea?”

Alex blinked, “Um…sure…”

“Black, two sugars?” Holmes asked, putting a kettle on the stove.

“Yes…” Alex was stunned, “How did you know?” he quickly looked himself over, trying to see if there were any clues that would have told the man about his drinking preferences.

Holmes looked at him, “I didn’t.” He said slowly, “That’s how I take mine…though the similarities are impressive.”

“So you know who I am?” Alex felt his nerves creeping up on him again.

“Of course I know who you are, even if you do not apparently.”

Alex stared, “What do you mean?”

“You introduced yourself as Alex Moran.” The detective pointed out, pouring two cups of tea, “And you showed no recognition to the name Hamish, which is the name I referred to you.”

 _Hamish…_ why that name? “My name is Alex Moran.”

“Wrong.”

The teen watched as Holmes prepared their tea, “Wrong?”

“Wrong.” Holmes handed Alex his up before taking a sip of his own steaming tea, “You were born Hamish Watson Holmes. And there’s a birth certificate to prove it.”

With that, the detective made his way to a tall bookshelf, pulling down a thick scrapbook from the top shelf. “This was intended to be your baby book, John’s idea, not mine, but…” he flipped the book open to the first few pages.

Alex could see a copy of a birth certificate with the name “Hamish Watson Holmes” written at the top and with Sherlock Holmes listed as his father.

“Who was my biological mother?” Alex asked, thumbing the page.

“Ah, clever thing, the mother.” Holmes smirked, “John and I actually asked his sister Harry to be our surrogate. That way you had just as much Watson in you as Holmes…though we fully intended to make sure you never turned to alcohol.” At Alex’s confused expression, he added, “Harry is a reformed alcoholic, took her several years to recover. John and I had planned to make sure you never followed the same path.”

“Did you tell my fathers that? To make sure I stayed away from alcohol?”Alex looked up from the page, “When they adopted me, I mean.”

An ugly sneer distorted Holmes’s features, “ _Adopted_ , is that what they told you? What am I saying, of course it is, unlikely they would ever tell you the  _truth_.”

Before Alex could say anything, Holmes grabbed a laptop from the kitchen table, opening it without a word. Alex could only watch as the genius typed away at the computer before turning the screen to Alex, “There’s your real story.”

There was a news article on the screen, Alex could clearly read the headline “ ** _THE ONLY CRIME THE HOLMES COUPLE CAN’T SOLVE IS THEIR OWN_** ”

From there, Alex only read bits and pieces of the story below.

_…To those who know the crime-solving team of John and Sherlock Holmes, the news of their son’s kidnapping is devastating…_

_…Hamish Watson Holmes was only four months when he was taken from the couple’s London flat…_

_…If anyone has any information on Hamish, please call New Scotland Yard at…_

Alex shut the computer, unable to read anymore, “This can’t be true…”

“While a majority of journalism today is garbage, I must insist it is the truth.” Holmes took another drink of his tea, “But if you need more proof…” he turned the page of the scrapbook.

On the next page of the scrapbook, Alex could clearly see one of his baby pictures. He knew it was his baby picture because it had been in Daddy’s scrapbook back at home, “Why do you have this? There is no reason for you to have my baby pictures.”

Holmes carefully worked the photo from the sleeve, “It was sent to us, with a note on the back.”

Taking a slow breath, Alex turned the photo over.

_Look how adorable he is! Sebby was a little hesitant to let Alex blow out his own candles, but I insisted!_

_Oh yes, I should mention we changed his name to Alex because, honestly Sherlock, Hamish? Giving him your live-in ordinary person’s middle name? How plebeian._

_We decided on Alexander, after Alexander the Great of course. He had such a vast empire, I thought it only fitting to give my heir a strong name._

_But all in due time._

_See you next year!_

_~JM_

The photo dropped from Alex’s hand, fluttering to the floor. The cup of tea soon followed it, shattering as it hit the floor. Alex couldn’t be bothered to pick up the mess, he was barely able to keep from being sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god…” He breathed, pacing the room, “This can’t be real…it can’t…”

“It can, and it is.” Holmes replied, “You must have had some suspicions, seeking me out without the knowledge of your  _parents.”_  The last word was spat out with distain.

“How did you know I did it without them knowing?” Alex looked up at his biological father.

Holmes snorted, “Because Jim Moriarty would sooner burn the whole of London down before letting you get anywhere near me or John.”

Before Alex could answer, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs filled the flat. Logically, Alex had a pretty clear idea who it must be, but it didn’t stop him from panicking.

The door to the flat creaked slightly as it opened and one John Watson (Holmes, Alex corrected himself) walked in, “Alright Sherlock, I got the milk. Could you  _please_ not use it in your experiments? I’d like to make it through the week without…”

The ex-soldier stopped mid-sentence as he saw that Sherlock was not alone. There was a heavy silence that settled on the room, with no one daring to speak.

Unfortunately, the silence was only broken by the sound of John’s body hitting the floor in a dead faint.


	5. Chapter 5

Sebastian Moran was no stranger to being on the wrong side of the law. He’d been a gun for hire for years, putting a wide variety of different people in between his crosshairs, choosing the exact moment to end their lives.

Not to mention he was the husband of the world’s only consulting criminal.

If there was anything Sebastian Moran was familiar with, it was working outside the rules. And if anything, it made him all the more skilled at spotting when things were amiss.

So needless to say, Sebastian Moran knew that there was something terribly wrong when he received a call from Alex’s school.

 _“…We hope that Alex will recover from his illness and be able to return to classes soon…”_ The automated message droned tonelessly, “ _We will be sending Alex’s assignments home for him to complete….”_

Whatever the rest of the recording was going to say Sebastian didn’t bother listening to, he had already hung up. He had always hated that school anyway, he wasn’t about to listen to any more of their inane prattling.

But apparently, Alex was no longer at his school. And Sebastian knew that Alex was not home with him. So the question was where Alex _was_.

He started with his teen son’s room. Sebastian might not have been a great detective (or a great mastermind consulting criminal), but he had been a military officer. So while he didn’t understand the intricacies of investigations, he knew battle plans.  If Alex was going to run away, he’d have to plan it first.

And if Sebastian knew his son (which he damn well did), he knew that Alex wouldn’t have staged a breakout of his school without planning where he would be going, and the exact routes he would use to get there.

Checking Alex’s internet history was the logical place to start.

Seeing several searches for London put an ice block in Sebastian’s gut. He knew what London meant for their family (or at least how their little family began). But London was a big city, Alex could have run off to any number of locations.

The next natural thing for Sebastian to do as a concerned father was to check the GPS on his son’s phone (after all, that was the whole reason he and Jim had allowed Alex to have the phone). But damn Alex and his wit, the phone had apparently been left at the school (or at least, the GPS was).

Well, that just meant that Sebastian would have to track the GPS sewn into Alex’s backpack.

Which lead to Sebastian sitting in his teenage son’s room, staring at his computer screen where there was a tracking marker, one that told the location of Alex’s backpack, was blinking over a very well known address.

Sebastian hung his head, rubbing his temples, “Oh Alex, what have you done?”

He knew only one thing could happen with Alex at 221b Baker Street, and he knew that the moment Jim found out, heads would roll. And that was putting it lightly.

So he could call Jim and tell him the news, or he could try and get ahold of Alex. He could try and get Alex back on his own, before Jim got involved.

With a sigh, Sebastian reached for his phone.


End file.
